Just for me
by renrenren3
Summary: Locke has no problems lying to everyone and anyone, but there's someone who can see right through him. Mild spoilers for the first chapters of Lies.


Author's Note: Written for a song meme on Livejournal; hiza_chan gave me the song _Stripped_ by Shiny Toy Guns, which is strangely fitting for Locke. I'm so glad to finally have some excuse to write for this fandom, because the books are brilliant and more people should read them.

-x-

Master Vittore Barti reclined in his seat and took a small sip of tea. It was strong and much too sweet for his tastes, but at least it was warm. He cupped his hands gratefully around the tiny porcelain cup and managed a small nervous smile for his hostess.

"I'm so sorry you couldn't see my brother," Dona Camila said once again. The cold wind was making her cheeks even redder than usual. "He's usually at home in the mornings."

Vittore shook his head vehemently. "The fault is mine," he replied. "I shouldn't have come so suddenly without even sending a note ahead of me."

Dona Camila gave him a smile and pushed a plate of cinnamon tarts towards him. "Do try these, they're my favourites," she said. "I honestly don't know what's happening, he got an urgent call from one of the shops and had to leave in a hurry..."

Vittore paused with a tart halfway to his mouth. "Nothing bad has happened, I hope?"

"No, no!" Dona Camila exclaimed. "You don't need to worry, your deals are safe!"

"That's a relief," Vittore sighed. He took a bite of the cinnamon tart. Again, too sweet. "It would be a pity to lose such a valuable business partner as Don Elias. Not to mention the company of his charming sister."

He raised his tea cup in a toast to the older Dona, who giggled like a girl.

"Master Vittore, for shame!" she said. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're taking advantage of my brother's absence!"

-x-

Three hours earlier in quite a more disreputable part of Camorr, Locke Lamora took off his shirt, tossed it in a corner and went into the Wardrobe looking for his Master Vittore disguise.

"The Sanzas say he'll be out of the house until Falselight at least," he informed Jean, who was examining his own costume critically.

"And you're trusting them?" Jean asked, turning a servant's jacket over in his hands. "Need I remind you about last time?"

"I'd rather not, I remember only too well," Locke replied, wincing at the memory. "But we should have at least a couple of hours, and that's more than enough to win the heart of the lovely Dona."

He gave a sweeping bow that would have been much more impressive if he hadn't been holding his own pants in his hands.

"I'd say her heart is already won," Jean replied. "Now it's just a matter of winning her purse too."

Locke smirked. "I'm fully confident I'll be walking out of her place a richer man," he said, slipping into the bottle green silk pants. Bottle green! When was it that they'd decided that Vittore Barti had terrible taste in clothes?

"You're always confident," Jean grunted. "That's why when we were younger you kept having twelve different kinds of crap beaten out of you."

Locke's reply was muffled by the shirt he was pulling over his head. Jean shoot him a fleeting glance. "Are you sure you want to go ahead with it?" he asked.

"Of course I do," Locke replied, pulling a face. "No point in quitting now."

"We already have a couple thousand crowns from Don Elias," Jean pointed out, carefully tying his tie in front of the mirror. "It would be more than enough to cover all the costs."

Locke grimaced. "Barely enough," he corrected. "Besides, what kind of thieves would we be if we ran away just before the grand finale?"

"Good thieves?" Jean suggested without turning around. "Alive thieves?"

There was a moment of uneasy silence, then Locke gave a small laugh. "If I didn't know you better I'd say you're afraid," he replied.

"I don't know," Jean said slowly. He turned around, leaning on the frame of the mirror. "Are _you_ afraid, Locke?"

"Of course I'm not afraid," Locke replied, crossing the room to examine himself in the mirror. There were a couple of loose threads, but that would just fit with Master Vittore's unkempt persona.

He was vaguely aware of Jean snorting and muttering something indistinct, then Locke was brusquely spun around, grabbed by his shirt's lapels and pushed against the wall.

"Enough bullshit," Jean said.

In was in moments like these than Locke fully appreciated their height difference. With their faces so close, he had to crane up his neck to look at Jean. "What's wrong?" he asked. His tone was casual, but he could feel that Jean was furious.

"_What's wrong?_" Jean repeated, words dripping with contempt. "Do you want me to make a fucking list?"

"I thought you were fine with the plan," Locke replied, but Jean just tightened his grip on the shirt.

"Right now I couldn't care less about the plan," he snarled. "What's wrong with _you_, Locke?"

The corners of Locke's mouth tilted slightly upwards. "Why, I'm just being my usual charming self," he quipped, but he couldn't quite bring himself to meet Jean's gaze.

"Don't you use that tone with me," he said. "Don't you even try to use that tone to tell me that everything is fine."

Locke didn't even need to ask why. Jean knew it, of course he did. He wasn't Locke's best friend for nothing.

"That's the same tone you use to tell bullshit to your marks," Jean continued. "When you tell them that everything is going fine and you only need another five hundred crowns, right before disappearing into thin air."

"I didn't mean to," Locke began, but Jean cut him off angrily.

"Of course you didn't," he snapped. "But you still do, all the time. Don't think I haven't noticed. First with Sabetha, though you've always acted like a fool around her..."

"Jean..."

"But if you think you can lie to my face and get away with it, well, think again."

"I'm sorry," Locke sighed. He didn't even try to hide the weary tone in his voice.

Jean kept staring at him, but he let go of his shirt. Locke sighed and awkwardly passed a shaky hand through his hair.

"It's just... sometimes I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I miss Chain and I miss having someone who will warn me if I'm about to fuck everything up."

"Believe me," Jean replied, not unkindly. "If you even try to fuck anything up I'll be the very first to let you know."

Locke smiled again, but this time he meant it. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I know I can tell you everything, but sometimes..."

"Oh, please, not _everything_," Jean replied with a shudder. "There are things I really don't need to know, for example what you and Sabetha do all night long."

"Sabetha would kill me if I talked about that," Locke laughed.

Finally Jean relaxed, stepping back from Locke. "Just don't get in the habit of lying to me," he said. He was going for a light tone, but his voice still sounded strained to Locke.

"I promise," Locke said, holding up one hand. "On my honour as a thief and master of deceit."

Jean snorted. "That makes me feel ever so much better," he said tossing Locke his short cape. "So how do you really feel about this whole affair?"

"Honestly?" Locke replied. "I'm not sure myself and we might just end up hanging together on the next Penance Day. But I still say let's go ahead with it."

"So be it, then," Jean said. "And if we end up swinging from the bridge I'll make sure to make your afterlife as miserable as I possibly can."

Locke turned around and examined himself in the mirror. "How do I look?" he asked, easily slipping into Master Vittore's refined accent.

Jean pretended to consider the question with all due regard. "Like a moderately wealthy Camorri merchant with no dress sense at all," he said gravely.

"How fortunate for us that Dona Camila will be expecting just such a person," Locke replied with a smirk. He tugged the cape more closely around himself.

"If she makes you sit outside in the garden again, your ugly face is going to freeze completely," Jean informed him, showing no sympathy for his best friend's imminent demise.

Locke laughed and followed him out of the door.


End file.
